Terrornuckel Compilation!
by SomethingCalledShips
Summary: A compilation of TerrorLadd-themed shorts! Read with caution: there will be fluff and there will be smut!
1. RQ Treasure Hunt

It wasn't uncommon for Brock to go out of country for a job. It was the best part of his job as a treasure hunter. So where was Brock now? In the middle of Machu Picchu. Tourists like he were standing around watching the sun disappear, some taking photos on their phones, others chatting secretly with one another. One man was busy taking photos of the scenery, a hat similar to his shading him from the sun.

Brock was standing in the center of the grassy main field, dilapidated buildings perched precariously on the flattened area that was Machu Picchu. Most of the tourists there took absolutely no notice of the tall man in a short sleeved white cotton shirt and beige khakis with hiking boats. Others glanced curiously at him, noticing his small black backpack, stiff fabric hat pulled low over his eyes, and the pistol tucked into the back of his khakis. Behind his map was several other slips of paper he'd gotten. He had in his hand three polaroid photos: the first was a hiking trail overgrown with dead bushes and loose dirt—how he'd gotten to the site—the second was a hard cliff face with long deep cracks, the third was Machu Picchu itself from on of the buildings. Next he had two small pieces of stapled lined paper with notes and diagrams scribbled all over. And another with a pencil drawing of the relic he had to get. It was a statue of sorts, supposedly rock with detail markings on it. Whatever it was, his employer was very keen to have it. And he was also very cautious about who knew how badly he wanted it.

Along with the polaroids photographing the area, Brock had also received one more. A man in similar clothing to his own, the stubble of a beard appearing on his chin with a stiff fabric hat pulled low over his bright blue eyes.

"He calls himself Terroriser…" Brock's employer had said as he smeared the end of his cigar into a ceramic bowl on the corner of his heavy mahogany desk. The back of Brock's throat closed off as he remembered the taste from the heavy cigar smoke in the air. "Be very careful of this man…he's the best in the business. He has a 100% success record, and is not afraid to kill to keep it. You need to be careful."

"He's the one who has to be careful. Because I don't plan on being easy to kill," Brock had replied, smiling smugly as he remembered his response. Cocky, yes, but no one ever said you had to be modest if you were pretty much a hiring treasure hunter.

* * *

The trail down to the cliff face was long and slippery from loose soil and dead plants, but Brock recognized the area from his Polaroid photo. Slipping it back into his back pocket, Brock pushed the stiff brim hat off his head so it hung around his neck with it's string. It was a silent night, and Brock was happy for it; less distractions. He pressed his palms against the flat rock, feeling around for what he knew hoped would be a way in. Of course his employer hadn't told him what he was looking for, that would be stupid. Yet in a rock so cut open and jagged like this, Brock felt certain there would be a trick, a hiding spot, a pressure point that would reveal the mountain's secret.

The snap of a camera behind him made Brock whirl but he froze. The person, a man in his late twenties maybe, was in a dark shirt with scruffy jeans and equally scruffy hair. A large expensive camera hung around his neck and his hiking boots looked freshly worn and in dire need of breaking in. The guy blinked startling pale eyes, a little scarred, a little sheepishly.

Brock blinked. He recognized him as the photographer as the photographer from earlier.

"You following me?" Brock asked, tilting his head to one side.

The man blushed slightly, letting out a nervous laugh. "Yeah…sorry," the man's Irish accent was thick, and his downward gaze melted Brock's anger away. "I have a bad habit of following pretty guys around and asking for photos…"

Brock felt a blush tinting his cheeks. He couldnt' get distracted by the cute, flirty guys, so he shrugged it off, turning back to the cliff face. "Can't take photos right now. I'm looking for something…"

He could hear the man's feet scrabble in excitement as he clumsily navigated the tangled brush. Brock smiled at the sounds of his struggle before the man joined his side facing the cliff.

"What are you looking for?"

Brock reached into his back pocket and pulled out the Polaroid of the cliff face. The man studied it for a while.

"Where did you get this?"

Brock didn't answer. Was there something close to the ground, maybe?

"My name is Brian, by the way. I don't think I told you that," the man laughed again. It was a sweet laugh, and Brock smiled inwardly at it.

"Brock," Brock replied, distractedly. Not close to the ground. Brock slot one hand into a deep crack of rock and slide it upwards, hoping for a sign.

"This photo…it hasn't been altered, has it?"

Brock stopped. He turned to look at Brian, who was glancing from rock to photo.

"Because there is a definite line in the rock of this photo, right here," Brian explained, placing a hand on the rock.

Brock joined him, running his own hands gently in a circular motion around the rock. Quickly, he found the line Brian had found in the photograph on the rock, and traced an almost doorframe in the rock. With a hard push, he felt it give.

"Give me a hand?" Brock glanced at Brian standing behind him, who nodded quickly and ducked onto the ground next to him. Brian's arms flexed, and the two pushed the heavy rock acting as a door away to reveal a small, dark passage.

Brock reached into his backpack to pull out a flashlight, shining it down the corridor. It was dusty and full of cobwebs. Brock swallowed hard; this one of the worst parts of his job.

"You're not going in there, are you?" Brian asked, alarm written across his face.

Brock laughed nervously. He didn't answer, he just chewed his lip.

Brian took it as a yes. "Well, let me come with you then."

Brock laughed again, glancing up at the man. "Why?"

"Oh come on! Big dark scary hole, cute American boy, this is a photographer's dream!" Brian grinned. Brock couldn't argue through his blush and fluttering heart, so instead crawled into the dark corridor, allowing Brian to follow.

It was a narrow corridor, cobwebs hanging everywhere and the scraping a stone against palm and khakis pants cut into Brock. He could already see an opening on the other end where the hallway got larger and narrower. Brock stood in the new space, holding a hand out to help Brian stand in the small space.

Light from some unseen source trickled down through disturbed dust particles. Sandy dust covered the floor, and Brock could make out the faint outline of what looked like several bones in the dust.

Brian breathed in slowly behind him as he craned his neck to see. "Are those…"

Brock nodded: skeletons. He bent down to lift one bone out of the dusty sand, examining it before putting it back. This must of been a burial spot for the residence of Machu Picchu. Standing, Brock pointed his flashlight down the hallway again: it got narrower.

"Still interested in following me?" Brock teased, glancing behind him to see Brian bent down to photograph several of the bones. Brian looked up, grinning a little stupidly.

"You're kidding, right? This is absolutely fantastic!"

Brock grinned at him again, watching as Brian ducked back down, taking several more photos before they moved on. Watching him however, Brock frowned. There was something else a little familiar about this guy. It was something in the pale eyes, in the way he stood up, stretching, completely at ease with the situation.

The passaged narrowed alarmingly fast, the two pressed into a narrow crack barely big enough for either of them to squeeze through sideways. After crawling through the rich squeeze, a ledge nearly seven feet above blocked their path, and Brock had to give his flashlight to Brian to hold. Brock clambered up using the close walls before leaning back over the pull Brian up. But Brian didn't need help, he just handed Brock the flashlight and his camera before scaling the walls himself. Brock raised an eyebrow impressed, making Brian laugh.

"Take extreme photos and you tend to pick up a few tricks," Brian shrugged.

They could hear water running, and around several tight corners, the passageway opened up to reveal an underground river low enough for the two stand up straight in.

"This must be the river that feeds Machu Picchu's fountains," Brian observed, glancing up and down the river following Brock's flashlight.

Brock reached into his pocket again, pulling out the stables paper notes he had along with the Polaroid shot of the Machu Picchu grounds. One of the notes was a diagram of the river, and Brock hoped cross referencing the two would lead him to the treasure.

He felt Brian breathing over his shoulder.

"Where did you get all this stuff from?" Brian asked innocently. Brock shrugged it off, pointing his flashlight down river.

"This way," Brock motioned, jumping into the river and slipping a little on the slipper rocks under the water. He felt water crawl up his back and he shivered, blushing at Brian's laughter and help as the later straightened Brock up.

"Still avoiding the question, huh?" Brian pried, following Brock into the shallow river tugging at both of their legs now. "I mean, you don't have to tell me, but I am following you in a small passage layered in rock."

"Which you didn't have to," Brock pointed out. He held the flashlight in his mouth so he could compare the river diagram with the Polaroid. They were close.

"Are you an Indian Jones?"

Brock frowned, and glanced behind him. Brian was frowning back, utterly confused. Brock shook his head.

"Lara Croft?"

"No, I'm neither," Brock replied, exacerbated from the questioning already and removing the flashlight from his mouth. "I'm just exploring."

"Very few notes and guides for an explorer," Brian observed. "As well as a pistol."

Brock stiffened and turned on Brian, but too late. Brian was already holding the pistol and his guides, a familiar smirk creeping onto his face as Brock. It clicked in Brock's head now, and Brock felt his stomach drop as he recognized who this was.

"Terroriser…" Brock growled.

"Moo Snuckel…" Terroriser greeted him with a sarcastic nod.

"I should have known it was you," Brock cursed himself.

"Lemme guess. You had my photo too?" Terroriser nodded the gun at Brock's rear. "Turn around, lemme see that fine arse or yours again."

Brock turned, setting his jaw and narrowing his eyes as Terroriser reached into his back pocket and pulled out it's contents. He thumbed through it quickly before saying "I think I'll let you keep this photo," tucking back the Polaroid of him and throwing the rest of the guides in the water.

"You know, for someone as brilliant as you," Terroriser sighed, readying the pistol. "You're awfully gullible to a little flattery."

Brock sighed. "Yeah, you're right," Brock admitted, before raising his head and allowing a smirk to creep into his lips. "But at least my fine ass kept you from noticing that pistol is useless when wet."

Terroriser didn't have time to register what it meant before Brock smacked the pistol from his hand and threw a punch that spun him against the wall. With a dive, Brock took off down the river, his feet slipping on the rock bottom and pistol forgotten. Behind him was the splashing of Terroriser as he took off after him. His flashlight light up the river ahead of him, and Brock could already see the drop where the river moved away from Machu Picchu and down the mountain. He could also see the path around the drop that led up to a dry ground that was Brock's target.

"You can't keep running, Moo!" Terroriser's voice echoed off the walls. Brock's heart was pounding as he pushed himself against the wall, praying he wouldn't slip and fall down the hole leading the water away from Machu Picchu, and clambered up the wet but solid rock above the waterfall hole. Scrambling to his feet, Brock took off up the slight incline, Terroriser's splashing footsteps closing in on him. Without his notes, Brock was flying blind and with Terrorier's threatening shouts and methodic footsteps following his own, Brock could feel panic clutching his chest.

But then the corridor opened up. Brock skidded to a stop to discover a small rectangular room with a low ceiling and decorated walls. Engravings on the wall as well as floor caught shadows in Brock's flashlight as he surveyed the room, but when his flashlight reached a low sitting pedestal in the center of the room, his heart sunk.

Terroriser's footsteps caught up to him now, and Brock felt the Irishman breathing down his neck with a heavy laugh.

"Dead end?" He purred into Brock's ear, pushing him aside and into a wall. He took the flashlight himself, but when he saw the pedestal, his face fell as well.

Empty. The fucking thing was empty.

Brock groaned, hitting his head against the wall and screwing his face up. Idiot.

"I…" Brian stuttered. "I don't understand…"

"We've been played," Brock groaned. "We weren't the only ones."

Terroriser turned on Brock, shinning the flashlight as Brock's chest so as not to blind him. Brock could see the confusion and betrayal on his face.

"But, I was told to look out for only you…"

Brock nodded, sighing?

"Yeah, well so was I: "Watch out for Terroriser, he's the best in the business." Guess there is someone better, because they managed to get away with a relic worth ten thousand to my employer," Brock rolled his eyes and leaned his hands on his knees.

Terroriser was silent for a second. "Ten thousand, huh?"

Brock smiled, nodding. "Yep. Ten thousand."

"I'm only getting seven," Terroriser mumbled, then after a few moments of silence, burst into laughter. Brock laughed along with him. Two idiots, soaking wet, sitting in a tiny room under Machu Picchu. Together, some rich men were spending seventeen thousand dollars for two treasure hunters to sit in that room and laugh.

"Well then," Terroriser managed to get out, straightened himself and taking a deep breath to calm himself. "We can't let someone be better than us."

Brock frowned, looking at the darkened face of Terroriser. He couldn't make him out with the flashlight shining right on his chest, but slowly, Brock began to understand what Terroriser was hinting at. And the more he thought about it, the more Brock started to like that plan even more than the original one.

* * *

The hotel was crummy and run down, the latch on the window was easy to break, and the relic treasure that was Terroriser and Brock's target was in a small plastic bag left in the dresser. The only problem was how badly the floorboards in the room squeaked.

Brock cringed again as another squeaked, turning slowly to catch Terroriser's also cringing eye and glare at him.

"Be quiet!" Brock hissed. Terroriser mouthed "sorry" before continuing to raid the rival treasure hunter's bags. He was looking for any sign of who his employer was, Brock was simply sliding the relic carefully into his backpack. The room was a two room set up, a double bed at one end of the elongated hotel room, a door on one side leading to the bathroom. At the other end of the main room was a couch with several bookshelves and a desk with an old chair at it. On the desk were backpacks and paperwork, even a cellphone Terroriser had been busily skimming for info. Between these two set ups was a closet/cabinet furniture piece in which Brock had found the relic, sealed tight in a plastic sealable bag and wrapped in rags for safe transport. The relic was stone, intricate engravings of what appeared to a ritual sacrifice adorned it's hard, oval shaped, surface. It was nothing spectacular to Brock, but he'd handled far more expensive items than this before.

Then, a murmur made both men start and turn towards the bed. The rival treasure hunter was asleep, okay, but it was a light sleep. With a quick glance at Terroriser, Brock knew it was time to go.

As carefully as he could, Brock tip toed across the small hotel room towards the tiny window again, Terroriser following him.

Brock pushed the window outwards gently, cringing at the long, gentle creak that came from it. He didn't dare move for another thirty-seconds, waiting with baited breath to see if the treasure hunter in their bed would wake up. When he didn't, Brock crawled out the window and dropped onto the box underneath the window. Terroriser was next, and Brock held the man's waist to help as he dropped down too.

The two clambered silently down to the alley below. Brock took off at a dead run, Terroriser keeping pace at his side as they bolted down the side streets and back into the still busy main streets. Only then did the two men skid to halt, leaning on their knees with the palms of their hands as they caught their breath and laughed.

"Well then," Terroriser chuckled, straightening up and looking around. "Airport is that way, I guess you'll be heading off then?"

Brock stood too, looking at Terroriser. His shaggy brown hair was wind swept, and his bright eyes shone in the low light. Brock sighed, realizing he could loose himself in those eyes for an eternity.

"Take it," Brock said suddenly, handing the small black bag to Terroriser, who starred perplexed at him. "Get the first plane out of here. Keep that 100% success record," Brock smiled at him. The intense blue eyes met his brown ones then, and Brock frowned at his reluctance.

"You know, maybe a 100% success record is a little too unrealistic," Terroriser thought allowed, winking at Brock. Brock felt his heartbeat pick up again as he understood.

"Maybe, just this once, I'm not the best in the business…?"

Terroriser pushed the small black backpack back into Brock's hands, smiling kindly at him. Brock starred at him, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

"I…I don't know what to say…"

"If you give me a cut of the reward money, I'll say we had a glorious fight and you beat me in a battle of brute force and will," Terroriser teased. There were others on the busy street around them, but Brock didn't notice them. He only saw Terroriser, Brian, in front of him. Brock pulled him suddenly into a hug, which was warmly reciprocated.

"How does 20-80 sound?" Brock grinned into Terroriser's soft neck.

"Oh if that's how you're gonna place this, I'll take the relic back," Terroriser joked, letting go of him before gently slapping Brock's ass in the direction of the airport.

"I'll see you around?" Brock asked, hopefully, turning back to look at Brian one last time. Brian smiled, rolling his eyes, and placing a gentle hand on Brock's face before leaning against Brock's lips in a quick kiss of fireworks.

"Now, you have to," Brian winked, before turning away with a final glance and disappearing into the crowd. Brock was still for a moment, before taking off at a fast passed walk. He was heading to the airport, back to Los Angeles where he would deliver the relic to his employer, collect the ten thousand, then find Brian.

His greatest treasure hunt, his hunt for Terroriser, for the greatest treasure hunter working today, for Brian, was only just beginning.


	2. RQ Cliche

The proposal? Eiffel tower. It was supposed to be a stupid vacation Terroriser, Daithi De Nogla, and Mini Ladd were treating Moo Snuckel too. When Mini and Daithi didn't follow the couple up the tower, Terroriser suspected something. He wasn't prepared, however, when Moo got down on one knee and flashed the velvet black box and diamond studded ring. He wasn't ready for the onslaught of tears and kisses and applause from random people that followed, no way was Terroriser ready for the flowers waiting for him below held in excited fists anxiously waiting the good news. When Mini and Daithi saw the ring on Terroriser's fourth finger left hand, they screamed and cheered and flooded twitter and group chats with pictures of the two. Snow began to fall later that day, and the foot tracks of two newly engageds heading swiftly back to their hotel had never looked sweeter.

The wedding? White wedding, of course. It was cheesy, but neither of them would have changed it. The yellow flowers highlighting each round table in the reception, the church wedding packed so tight some people couldn't sit, the drunken speeches Vanoss, Daithi De Nogla, Mini Ladd, and Syndicate gave. The champagne was rosé, the music was slow, and dressed in his white suite, Terroriser slow danced the night away with his groom in a matching black suite. It was late when they tumbled into bed, a flurry of flushed faces and slurred promises of eternal affection as the two consummated their marriage early into the morning, rose petal strewn over the bed scattering onto the floor.

The honey moon? Hawaii. A small beach-side cottage with large glass sliding doors reaching out to a wooden planked deck with steps leading to a small strip of perfect white sand overlooking a cove of ocean water. It faced the sunset the afternoon they arrived, and, as Terroriser dropped his bags by the mini bar in the kitchen and dashed outside, the last rays of their first day in paradise were stretched their fingers across the sky.

Brian took a deep breath, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly as the heat from an Hawaiian August night. THIS was paradise.

"I take it this was a good choice?" Brian heard his husband's voice behind him.

Brian grinned. "It's a little cliche, don't you think?" He turned to see Brock leaning against the sliding glass door, his head cocked to one side, smiling slightly at his perfect husband. How someone managed to look so good in an old shirt of his and rolled up jeans complete with brown flip flops and messy hair from a long flight, Brock would never know.

Brian walked to back to the door, noticing the two full champagne glasses in Brock's hands, taking one for himself with a grin.

"To our cliche honey moon?" Brian grinned, raising his glass.

Brock smiled, clinking the smooth glass against his husband's, whispering "to our cliche honey moon," before taking a long sip then pressing his champagne-sweetened lips against Brian's. They were still warm like the day they were married. As Brock pulled back, he looked his new husband up and down before dragging him back inside to their small cottage to cuddle on the coach in front of a movie.

Around ten, Brock's fumbling fingers found the remote, turning off the movie before moving back to Brian's face, his husband's lips mashed against his. Both of them had lost interest in the movie, and now that neither of them could be bothered to stay awake and clothed any longer, they moved from the small living room with its back to the kitchen into their bedroom.

The bedroom also had a long, glass window, facing the beach and gently lapping ocean outside, stars reflecting in the smooth surface of water. White curtains drifted gently in the breeze created by the two men running past them in fits of giggles and smooches, before tumbling into the queen sized bed, complete with silk throw pillows and white bedsheets.

Brock pinned his husband down onto the bed, both breathing heavily and giggling. Brian smiled up at him, his hair a tangled dark mess against the white bedsheets. Brock moved one of his hands from Brian's arms to gently stroke his clean shaven face. Brian closed his eyes slightly against Brock's touch, sighing happily against his soft touch.

"How did I manage to find someone like you?" Brock whispered breathlessly, his hand tracing patterns on Brian's cheek as Brian giggled.

"I was the only mail-order bride you liked online," Brian joked, curling underneath Brock as the latter tried to punch him. Brian reached up a hand to grab his husband's fist, flipping him onto his back and straddling him with a victorious smirk. Brock knew how to get him off though, and lifted his hands to his sides and tickled him. Brian gasped with laughter, pushing at his hands, calling foul play and giggling loving curses between stifled breaths.

"Well you're half right," Brock began, raising an eyebrow, lowering his hands, and smirking at the confused frown on Brian's face. Brock took the opportunity to flip Brian, raising himself up and pushing Brian off, his husband landing with a thud on the soft sheets next to him while Brock clambered on top of him, pinning him down with a grin that made Brian heat up under his touch. Brian's confused blush melted into a strained moan very quickly, as Brock rubbed himself against Brian in a slow, deliberation motion that made the whole bed rock, Brock's nose pressed against Brian's as he breathed heavily with each thrust.

"I did find you online," Brock's nose left Brian's as he reached over to the bedside table where they'd left the lube earlier, emptying some of it's contents onto his fingers. He returned to his position, hovering over Brian, grinding him into the bed as his finger worked it's way inside of him.

"But you are so much better than any bride I could have found," Brock bit the tip of Brian's nose as he slide a second finger. Brian's faced grimaced a moment, before relaxing into a smug grin.

"How?" Brian coaxed, wrapping his arms around Brock's neck and pulling him closer into him.

Brock stopped, raising an eyebrow at his perfect husband under him.

"You want me to tell you?" Brock asked, this time not being so gentle with his fingers as they pushed themselves deep into Brian. Brian gasped, his eyes bugging slightly and his back arching with the sudden change. He stayed like that a moment, his mouth hanging open and eyes hazy before Brian could manage a nod.

"I'll tell you why," Brock removed his fingers, instead choosing to rub his dick with the remaining lube while he lowered himself on one arm down to Brian's lips.

"First, your lips," Brock whispered, his mouth brushing tantalizingly over Brian's. Brian leaned up for the kiss, but Brock leaned away, his smirk making Brian fall back onto the bed with a pout.

"Then, your neck," Brock grinned, pouncing on the flesh of his husbands neck and sinking a painful bite into it. Brian gasped, tilting his head upwards as Brock trailed around to his Adam's Apple and downwards.

"Next, your ass," Brock leaned up, letting go of his penis and flipping Brian underneath him before pulling him up by his hips so Brock's dick rubbed up against Brian's stretched hole. The friction caused by the sudden, rough move coaxed a moan out of Brian that made Brock twitch against his husband's round ass. Brock massaged his husband's butt, smack it with a strike making Brian twitch and moan again, a redness appearing where Brock's hand made contact.

"I can never get enough of this beauty," Brock groaned, leaning down and licking a long, wet stripe up between his lover's cheeks. Brian bucked, his groans jagged and raw as he pressed back against Brock's tongue, whimpering when Brock finished and then gasping when he felt the tip of his husband's penis press into his hole.

"Next, your voice," Brock's voice dark as he thrust inside, a push a little more violent than Brian was expecting. Brian yelled, his moan ragged from the sudden intrusion and explosion of pleasure from behind. It made him loose balance, falling forward so the side of Brian's face pressed agains the white bed sheets, his ass on full display for his husband looming above him. The bed rocked with the sudden force, and as it settled back into stillness, so did Brock, before both began to rock again with a steady rhythm that had Brian biting his knuckles.

"I can't…get enough…of that…sexy…voice," Brock breathed, punctuating each word with a thrust that got rougher and rougher, faster and faster. Brian's tongue lolled out of his mouth and his eyes rolled back into his head as a wave of mounting pleasure overcame him.

"Moan for me, honey," Brock breathed, leaning over Brian's body so his chin rested on his husband's shoulder. Brian cried out with every thrust, twisting his neck to kiss his husband's list with a heated smash of wet skin.

Brock flipped him again, turning Brian onto his back and lifting his legs up onto Brock's shoulders. Brock leaned down to press his forehead against Brian's forehead as he thrust again, Brian whimpering gently underneath his husband.

"Next, your eyes…" Brock choked out, his body spasming as he reached his climax. He could tell Brian was ready to cum too, his husband's cock twitching against his stomach. Brock reached a hand down to Brian's penis, stroking him gently, admiring the way Brian's eyes squinted shut and his mouth hung open with a strained and silent cry.

"Open your eyes, baby," Brock whispered soft and strained against Brian's hot skin, Brock's only free hand stroking Brian's face prompting him to open them. In response, Brian's eyes opened, two circles of bright blue Brock lost himself in the moment he met the man.

Brian's hand shot up, interweaving itself into Brock's hair and pulling as he strained, his body arching up against Brock's as he climaxed onto both of their chests. Brock strained as well, his pace slowing down as he groaned into a final thrust, his semen spurting out and inside his new husband.

"Your eyes…" Brock breathed heavily, his panting, sweaty body tucking perfectly against Brian's as he remained hovered above his husband, brushing his sweaty hair from his face.

"I think it's your eyes that are the best part," Brock concluded, smiling at Brian's blush. He'd heard it so many times from his husband now, but every time Brock said it, Brian still got a little queasy.

"Not my award winning personality," Brian joked, a breathy laughing forming in his throat. Brock leaned up indignantly, raising an eyebrow and rolling his eyes.

"No, because you have a shitty personality and I only married you for your body," Brock responded flatly, grabbing his giggling husband's hands and pulling up onto his knees, pressing his wet body against his. Both men giggled, unable to separate their eyes from the other. It still felt like a dream to them both; engaged, married, a partnership neither of them had expected to find. It was all such a cliche, falling in love with your best friend, but that was the best part, the icing on the wedding cake.

Brian sighed contentedly, flopping down onto the bed with a heavy thump and reaching out his hands, making grabing motions at Brock to come join him. Brock didn't, instead backing off the bed and frowning.

"You are covered in cum, you are not going to sleep in the bed like that," he chastised, heading towards the on suite bathroom for toilet paper.

"Oh come on!" Brian called after him, sitting up with a pout that morphed into a smirk. "This bed will be ruined by the time our honey moon is over."

"Then let's not make that sooner?" Brock responded from in the bathroom.

Brian chuckled, laying back down on the soft white sheets. He could see the moon reflected on the ocean outside their bedroom window, and soft lapping of ocean water a lullaby to his ears. Brock returned, his bare feet padding on the carpet and then his knees bending the mattress as he clambered over to his half-asleep husband with a wad of toilet paper. Brian opened one eye to watch Brock, still naked, leaning over Brian with such a loving tenderness in his eyes it made Brian smile.

"I love you," Brian whispered hoarsely, sleep and fatigue overcoming him.

Brock glanced up, a little startled he was awake, but smiled none the less, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on his husbands forehead, his lips trailing down to Brian's where they stayed a long while. He tasted like champagne and sweat, Brock noted, a mixture he could get very used to.

Brock parted, wadding up the used toilet paper and tossing it in the trash can by the door, before slipping under the covers and pulling Brian with him, peppering him with a thousand kisses. Brock wrapped him tightly in his arms, Brian's head wresting against his husband's rising and falling chest, tracing circles on his still hot skin. Perfect; he was perfect. They were perfect.

"I love you too," Brock whispered hoarsely, equally sleepy and worn out. He squeezed his husband tightly, before drifting off to sleep, quickly followed by Brian, lulled by the beating of Brock's heart under him. This is so cliche, Brian thought just as sleep washed over him, but he didn't care. Sometimes, the cliches are the best, and to Brian, now fast asleep in his husband's arms in their queen sized white bed with large windows looking out onto a private beach in Hawaii, this cliche was the best.


	3. RQ Model Behavior

When Brock got his first underwear shoot booking, he hadn't been able to look any of the models in the eyes. It had been the awkwardest three hours of his career, and Brock was pretty sure when he left he would never be asked back for an underwear shoot. He was, thankfully. The models were all fairly easy to work with too, some a little less nice than others, but Brock didn't care. Underwear shoots were always fun, not just for Brock to stare at the models, but also for the quickies in the bathroom down the hall or simply postponing the shoot right then and there.

No one said the fashion industry wasn't rewarding, and for Brock, fuck was this industry rewarding. It's what got Brock up at six in the morning on a Friday to run to Starbucks and call a taxi. It's what made him smile slightly as he went over his schedule on his phone, notting with a grin that models Evan and Bri were scheduled to shoot today. They were nice, and good at sex, so Brock was excited for today.

But then his phone's calendar fell away, and the model booking agent, Jennifer, popped up on his phone. Brock swipped to the right just as his taxi slowed to a stop.

"Hello?"

"I got some bad news for you."

"Wow not even a good morning or how did you sleep?" Brock snickered, pushing the door of the cab open. "Little fucking rude, even for you Jen."

Brock jumped out of the New York taxi cab outside the multi story Calvin Klein headquarters he was now full-time employed at. His phone was still pressed to his ear as he balanced his Starbucks coffee cup on the roof of the cab and pulled out a twenty.

Jen's eye role was audible. "Good morning Brock, how the fuck are you? Oh really? That's fantastic. Anyway, Evan is sick."

"You cannot be serious," Brock groaned, smiling thankfully at the driver before grabbing his coffee and walking briskly into the studio. "The model is sick?"

"That's what he told me!" Jennifer responded defensively. "I got a call from Evan just now and he sounded like he'd been hit by a train. And you know he wouldn't play sick."

"Of course he wouldn't lie, I've never met someone more ready to get undressed in my entire life," Brock responded with a smirk, flashing his ID at the doorman. "So now what?"

"You want to model for us?" Jennifer snickered.

"Do you want to loose your sight?" Brock chuckled, glancing around the lobby. It was busy for a Friday morning, full of men in fitted business suits and women in wobbly heels. Brock recognized a few of them, most were outfit runners or desk workers he'd had a bit more than usual contact with. He did recognize a few of his lighting assistants, two undergraduate boys in plaid shirts and rolled up jeans walking excitedly towards the elevators.

"If I'm not needed today, I'll probably go home Jen," Brock threatened playfully, taking a long sip from his coffee.

"And spend the day watching porn and eating cold pizza?" Brock spluttered into his coffee at Jen's sarcastic response. "Come on upstairs, we're pulling in another model."

"Darn, and I almost got the day off," Brock sighed, chuckling into his cell as he headed towards the elevators. "Hope the model is cute. Boy or girl?"

"Brian."

"Brian?" Brock frowned, filling into the elevator with the rest of the people waiting patiently. "Thought he just come back into town on the red eye from Milan. They're not seriously pulling him in this fucking early?"

"Welcome to fashion," Jennifer growled, her fingers taping fast on a keyboard on the other end. "Brian is on his way in, so get the White Room on floor thirteen ready. He'll be there in ten minutes," the click of Jennifer's receiver on the other end finished their conversation. Brock sighed; damn the people in this industry were rude.

Brock barely had enough time to get the lights heated and adjusted properly before there was a gentle knock at the door. With a wave of his hand, Brock's lighting assistant he'd seen down in the lobby, Patrick, went to the door.

* * *

"Morning, Mister—"

"Just call me Brian, kid," the thick Irish accent cut off Patrick's greeting, the model's heavy footsteps tapping the floor as he walked in and bee lined to the Starbucks coffee Brock's other assistant, Danny, got him. "It's too early in the morning for formalities, anyway." Patrick, Danny, and the makeup artist named Alice also in the room laughed.

Brock grinned down at the mini iPad in his hands. Yeah, Brian was fun. Brian had been the model on his third shoot, and Brock had really enjoyed working with him. They'd worked together after that too, but because Brian was sent out to Milan for some fashion showcase or the other, Brock hadn't been in contact with him.

"Patrick, drop a text to Jen saying the slacker is here," Brock asked, not turning around from the White Room's iPad mini, which was hooked up wirelessly to the rooms light system.

"Wow not even a good morning or how did you sleep?" Brian's thick Irish accent still groggy with sleep as he teased Brock. "Little rude, even for you Brock."

Now Brock looked up, squinting his eyes as he turned on the model. Damn, Brian looked good today. He'd clearly just woken up, since his hair was still flat on one side and the white shirt under his jacket looked as if it had been rescued from his bedroom floor mere minutes ago. His dark leather jacket hid the worst of the shirt wrinkles, while is black jeans and matching black dress shoes almost made his outfit look put together. Brian winked at him, noticing the once over Brock gave him before turning away again to chug his coffee.

Brock went back to his iPad. "Alice, can you start makeup on Brian?"

Alice grunted an affirmative, mumbling softly to Brian as the snap of her makeup kit unlocking met Brock's ears.

"What am I modeling today?" Brian asked.

"Well…" Brock mumbled, stepping back from the lit space Brian would stand, admiring his work with a thumb and forefinger gently stroking his chin. "Basic underwear shoot by the sounds of it. Up top released new briefs, so we'll have you in those, and—" Brock turned back to Brian with a glance, catching the model's pale blue eyes fixed on him. "Are those Calvins?" Brock nodded his head at Brian's jeans.

Brian glanced down at his jeans before having his chin pushed upwards again by an angry Alice. Brian widened his eyes and grinned at Brock, laughing at angering Alice.

"Yep," Brian affirmed.

"Good. Maybe we can do something with them…" Brock sauntered over to where Brian stood, coffee still in his hands, while Brock stared at the space, thinking. "I'll call costumes department, see if they have size—" Brock glanced at Brian next to him now, Alice still covering his face with contour.

"Large."

Brock frowned, turning to Brian with a raised eyebrow.

Brian shrugged. "Milan's got great food, man," Brian smirked, lifting his Starbucks back up to his lips.

Brock narrowed his eyes, taking the Starbucks out of Brian's grasp and handing it off to Danny, his eyes fixed on Brian's as they followed Brock's hands. He looked betrayed.

"You're going shirtless; stop drinking shit."

* * *

"So, Milan…" Brock mused, DSLR up to his face facing Brian, now shirtless and shoeless while his Calvin Klein underwear showed tantalizing over the top of his Calvin jeans. Alice had done a great job with his makeup, contouring chiseled cheeks into his pale skin and accentuating his bright, pale eyes. The only let down was Brian's no longer perfectly toned abs. That was going to need to be photoshopped, badly.

Brian chuckled, shrugging as he shifted positions and placed a hand in his hair, frozen in time as he pulled it through. "Yeah…Milan was an experience. Lot of alcohol, lot of food, lot of people, something else entirely."

Brock nodded, snapping a few photos before standing up. Brian already knew what Brock wanted from him. He unzipped the zipper on his jeans, pulling the fabric away to reveal the underwear, angling his body so he created a C curve. Brock nodded, moving to the iPad to adjust lighting before coming back and pointing the camera.

"Wish you had come," Brian added, watching his movements. "You would have enjoyed it."

Brock snorted. "Don't look at me, look at the ground."

Brian obeyed, turning his head away and down. Brock's camera clicked several times.

"I'm a photographer. I can't get shipped out whenever I please," Brock responded, changing positions and angling his camera again. "And besides, wouldn't wanna come back a fatty like you."

Brian laughed gently. He cleared his throat and relaxed, standing straight with a slight right lean and pulling down on his jeans a little to expose the "Calvin Klein" brand name on the elastic. The bulge under his underwear made Brock swallowed thickly, but he continued clicking his camera.

"What was the show?"

Brian snorted. "What do you think?"

Brock lowered the camera, squinting at Brian. "I don't know, runway for McDonalds?" Brock almost wished he kept Danny and Patrick in the room now, just so they could laugh at his joke. Alice had dragged them out to work on another set with her.

Brian rolled his eyes, lying down on the floor on his side, one elbow propping him up as he pushed the leather of his jeans down even more, exposing the upper thigh of his leg facing up.

"I'm not fat Brock. Maybe compared to the skinny princess walking around here I am, but I'm also not starving myself," Brian shook his head, allowing his messy hair to flip up and over his face and cover his eyes slightly.

"Take the jeans off," Brock replied uninterested, going through the memory card on his camera. Fuck these photos were gorgeous. Brian looked so good, even in the black and white tones Brock was shooting in, his eyes managed to glow with a passion that invited the viewer in.

Brock started when he felt fabric hit his face. He looked up with a frown only to see Brian lying on the floor, naked except for the snug fitting white briefs. Brock couldn't look away, instead dropping the jeans to the side and crouching down on the floor, holding his camera back up to his face.

Brian's jaw was set. He looked through Brock's camera lens unflinching, starring him down. Brock lowered the camera to stare back.

"I'm not fat Brock," Brian asserted, unflinching.

Brock sighed, lowering his eyes from Brian's for a short few seconds.

"Why didn't you come to Milan? Really."

Brock didn't meet Brian's eyes. He went back to his camera, deleting a few mistaken ones.

"You were invited. Your name was on the guess list because I made sure of it. I wanted you there, and you never showed up."

"Because I had a job—"

"—because you had more ass back here."

Brock jerked his head up, looking sharply at Brian with wide eyes. The model hadn't moved, still propped casually on one elbow, a dark frown growing on his otherwise perfect face. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You play the nice guy, but you're no better than the rest of these fuckers, aren't you? You're just as rude and fucking shallow as everyone else."

Brock starred, his lips parted slightly as he listened. Those pretty pale eyes burned holes into his brown ones. Damn he was sexy, and damn Brock had missed him.

Without hesitating, Brock lurched forward, pushing his camera to the side and pulling Brian's face to his. Brian didn't hold back either, wrapping his arms around Brock's waist and pulling him down on top of him. Brock's teeth barred down on Brian's lip, pulling it away from him with a painful yank that Brian reciprocated in the form of hickey on his neck. Brock gasped, feeling nails dig into sides as the model under him scrabbled to remove his shirt. Instead of helping, Brock pushing Brian's hands away, instead unbuckling his belt and pulling Brian's face up to his crotch.

Brock threw his head back with a sigh and a groan as Brian went down on him, sucking all of Brock's dick into his mouth and humming gently. Fuck, Brock had missed that gorgeous mouth of his that spat such fire wrapped around him like this. Brock looked down to see Brian's bright blue eyes fixed on him, a smirk crinkling them as he watched Brock writhe under his lips.

With a final groan, Brock pushed him off and onto the floor, pinning Brian's wrists with his hands as he buried his teeth into Brian's exposed neck and collarbone. Gasps and small cries of pleasure escaped his throat with Brock's every nip. With an upwards thrust Brock rolled Brian onto his shoulders, his butt pressed against Brock's crotch. The model drew a sharp breath with each thrust, his pale eyes rolling back into his head as Brock released his grip on one of Brian's wrists to pull his briefs off him slightly, but enough.

Using the same hand to pull out the small bottle of lube he carried in his back pocket, Brock unscrewed the cap with his teeth before dousing his hand in the substance and rubbing it up and down his dick. After a few strokes, Brock pressed himself in, gaining a loud moan from Brian. He tensed up and dug his nails into Brock's back, racking red lines across his shoulders as tears broke from the corner of Brian's eyes. Neither could wait for Brian to be adjusted, instead Brian whimpered with intense pleasure as Brock picked up the pace, sweat pricking on his skin.

Brock rolled back into a crouching position, running his hands down Brian's side and catching at his hips. With a sharp yank, Brock pulled Brian up and wrapped the model's leg around his waist as Brian bounced. Brock buried his face into Brian's collarbone again, breathing in his sweat as the later threw his head back, mouthed stretched open with a silent scream. Brian's head flopped back down, pressing his lips against Brock's wet-with-sweat hair and kissing the top of his head, murmuring dirty thoughts against Brock's hair.

"Just couldn't wait any longer, huh? Couldn't wait any longer to fuck me, huh?"

Brock grunted, throwing his hips upwards and gaining a small yelp from Brian. The model's legs tightened around Brock's waist, and Brock adjusted his grip on the man, hitting him harder with each thrust.

"You want my ass so bad? You want my cute little fucking ass all for yourself?" Brian's accent turned Brock on so fucking much. He let go of one side of Brian, instead smacking the man's ass with a sharp fleshy impact and gripping it tightly. Brian growled with pleasure as Brock smacked him again and again before returning his hand, hooking it underneath Brian's leg.

"You know I love it when you're rough on me," Brian groaned, scrunching Brock's hair in one hand and grating his teeth.

Brock couldn't hold himself together for much longer. He'd forgotten just how perfect it felt to have Brian pressed against his skin like this again. Brian had always had an edge for turning him on, and today was no exception.

Brian could tell too, because he bent his head down and connected his lips with Brock's. Brock felt the model's tongue slide into his mouth, caressing his own tongue and pulling him closer to him. Brock could feel the haze before climaxing building up inside him, and with one final jerk upwards, he brought Brian down hard on his dick, earning a cry of both plain and pleasure as both climaxed. Brian moaned Brock's name into his lips, choking on his words as Brock shut him up with a kiss and bite of his lips.

Sighing heavily, Brock fell forwards, catching himself on one hand while the other held Brian on the small of his back. Brian's legs were still wrapped around his waist, but they were shaking from exhaustion. Letting the model down gently, Brock rolled down next to him, his chest rising and falling fast as Brock starred up at the white ceiling. The two lay in silence next to each other for a long time, trying to regain their breath.

"Well…that was long needed…"

Brock didn't respond. Brian had always been good, but this was new. Everything in him ached to flip Brian over and pound him again, but something in Brian's stopped him.

Sighing again, Brian pushed himself up and walked over to where his jeans had been discarded. Brock zipped his jeans back up and pulled down his shirt, adjusting himself before pushing himself into a sitting position to see Brian now fully clothed and as sexy as ever, watching him. His lips were drawn into a sad thin line as he surveyed Brock.

"And to think, I almost got the day off…" Brian mused. He bit his lips and looked away. "To think I almost got a day off and away."

Brock was silent for a second, before rising, bending to pick up his camera where he left it. He plucked the SD card from its slot and closed it up, walking over to its camera bag and slinging that over his shoulder.

He wasn't going to say anything, but when his palm hit the door knob he stopped. Brian had been the first man he'd fucked when he started doing photo shoots, so Brian had always been special in his mind. Fuck, Brock thought he even loved him. But that was when he was new to fashion.

Behind him, Brock heard Brian's voice speak up. "So that's it? We're done here?"

"Welcome to fashion," Brock replied shortly, turning the shiny door knob in his hand and stepping out into the hallway. He had photos to take up to editorial in dire need of some photoshopped abs.


End file.
